River Runs Deep by Jennifer Bradbury

corner where the routes seemed to bend around something impassable.
    â€œWhat’s that?” he asked, pointing at the spot on the map.
    Stephen looked up at him sharply. “What?”
    â€œThat spot,” Elias said, “where nothing goes through. Is that the pit?”
    Stephen smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly smile this time. “Just a piece we haven’t been in much yet.” He moved his hand along the map to the north. “Pit’s right here.”
    Elias scratched his head. “Why ain’t you been in there?” He wondered if maybe they’d paint sea monsters and leviathans on there, like the old sailors used to on places they hadn’t been.
    Nick and Mat exchanged looks over Stephen’s head. “You want me to take him back now when I go?” Mat said, his voice louder than necessary.
    â€œI want to stay. I ain’t tired, I swear. Been lying around that hut all day. And I’m not even wheezing much—”
    Nick sucked on his teeth. “I got to git,” he said.
    â€œI have the tour tomorrow and something to do before then,” Stephen said.
    â€œC’mon, just show me some—” Elias began, desperate not to go back to the quiet of his hut.
    â€œNo,” Stephen said firmly. “Now go on back with Mat, and don’t bother me about it or we won’t bring you out again.”
    Elias started to argue. How dare they talk to him like that! But the threat of not getting out with them tomorrow was enough to make him hold his tongue.

Chapter Five
LAPP KNOT
    Y ou need anything?” Lillian asked.
    Elias shook his head and tapped the paper with a pencil.
    â€œI’ll be back before too long,” she said. “Just going over to Hannah’s to fetch some soap.” Lillian had just changed the turban she wore, two braids thick as cables trailing down her shoulders.
    â€œI’ll stay put,” Elias promised.
    â€œIf Miss Nedra need something—”
    â€œI’ll run over,” Elias said.
    Lillian hesitated. “You sure you won’t wander off?”
    Elias held up the paper. “This’ll keep me anchored.”
    Satisfied, Lillian went, leaving Elias to his letter.
    He found he didn’t have the right words. He wanted to write about his adventures of a few nights back, scaling the wall, cramming himself into the hole. Or about Nick’s kindness, how his tobacco smelled like Daddy’s had, or even Mat’s surliness. Most of all, he wanted to write about how unusual Stephen Bishop was, about his maps and his writing and reading, how Elias found him a bit too proud for his own good, but at the same time found the man had plenty to be proud of. He admired him. But Mother and Granny wouldn’t have understood, may have even been alarmed at it. Maybe if he wrote and just didn’t tell them Stephen was black, he thought? But to what end? And why did it matter to him?
    He settled on telling them he’d taken on Bedivere as a pet, leaving out all but the most necessary details on how he came to have him. An interesting fellow here keeps birds and gave me one to look after. If it left a lot out, he reckoned it was for his family’s own good. Even a pigeon alone might give Granny cause to complain. Then he filled a page with a description of the doctor’s poultice, and added a paragraph regarding the news that Croghan was kin to William Clark. He was just beginning to assure them he was getting better, working up to suggesting that they might bring him home soon, when he felt himself being watched again.
    â€œHey,” he heard a voice whisper from the window.
    Not a voice. The voice.
    Elias glanced up. His heartbeat kicked into a canter, but he wouldn’t be made a fool of again. Not this time. “I ain’t talking to you.”
    â€œAre so,” the voice came back. “You jes’ did.”
    Elias glared at the window, tried to make out the eyes, but